Race, class, the South, and the historically volatile pairing of a black man and a white woman. These are some of the fixin’s writer-director Craig Brewer tosses into his outrageous stewpot, “Black Snake Moan.”

In the hands of a more subtle filmmaker, those themes might be the ingredients for a truth-and-reconciliation tale.

“Black Snake Moan” is a myth-and-reconciliation story with outlandish scenes meant to make you laugh, make you uncomfortable. Both.

Brewer’s bold debut feature, “Hustle & Flow,” was an overly flavored redemption tale willing to imagine the oversized emotions of “the little people.” Upon seeing it at the Sundance Film Festival, one critic declared it “rubbish.”

Even more than that film, the Tabasco’d emotions of “Black Snake Moan” will not be to everyone’s tastes. After all, the central drama of the film comes when a dark, tall black man chains a very small white woman to a radiator.

In fact, Brewer’s neo-Southern Gothic tale is one of those films that makes you fret about the shorthand of star ratings. It’s good but. …

A fellow critic and I agreed that the movie was utterly outrageous. What we never reached detente on was whether in going too far, Brewer had pushed the issue of race and sex far enough.

An energized Samuel L. Jackson steps into the work boots of Lazarus. The one-time bluesman has long ago shoved his guitars beneath his bed. He’s dedicated to his butter beans and other crops on his modest Tennessee farm.

“I’m not ready to grow old,” his estranged wife tells him on her way out of town. And there is something emotionally dormant, if not dead, in Lazarus.

Rae has a suitably codependent mate in Ronnie (Justin Timberlake), who suffers from panic attacks. They sooth each other just enough to cut down on their bouts of panic and need. But as the film opens, Ronnie is headed to basic training at a National Guard base, perhaps even deployment in Iraq.

Fight as Rae might, when Ronnie leaves, the girl goes wild, a fact Ronnie’s cad of a buddy Gil exploits.

When we first meet Lazarus, he’s about to see his wife. Leaning against a car, he tells his friend and pastor R.L (portrayed with sturdy compassion by John Cothran), “I never put a hand on her in anger.”

This is helpful information. Because when Lazarus finds Rae battered on the dirt road, he takes her home. When he learns she’s the town’s tramp, he decides to perform a righteous intervention.

The oversized padlock that keeps Rae chained to a radiator shouts chastity belt with cartoonish intent. Don’t believe me? Rae’s breakneck attempt to escape brings her up short like a chained animated hound trying to get at Sylvester the cat. An encounter between Rae and a sweet teen named Lincoln is willfully sillier – and scarier.

Do not underestimate the risk of certain roles on the psyche of a performer. Rae’s “itch,” as local drug thug Tehronne (David Banner) describes it, comes from a dark place. And Ricci works hard to link her character’s bad-girl antics with anguish.

Still a green director, Brewer makes errors in judgment. For instance, he keeps Rae in a state of undress more in keeping with a Maxim magazine cover than consistent with the man Lazarus is.

There’s a lot of love of place and folk in “Black Snake Moan.” The electric carbine whine of insects in the Tennessee sticks is just one sound of authenticity.

Brewer begins his movie with scratchy black-and-white footage of bluesman Son House talking about the roots of his craft.

“There’s only one kind of blues,” the philosopher says, “that consists between male and female.”

He’s wrong. But it’s his artistic truth. The same might be said of Brewer.

Film critic Lisa Kennedy can be reached at 303-954-1567 or lkennedy@denverpost.com; try the Screen Team blog at denverpostbloghouse.com.